Sins of the Son
by PeopleBoreMe
Summary: Harry wears a skirt. Draco loves it. HPDM. [warnings: slash, smut, crossdressing]


**A/N: Yes, it's me, back again with yet another one-shot! I've never written anything in this POV or tone, so I hope it turns out okay.**

**Thanks in advance to the reviewers!**

**Disclaimer: applies.**

**Warnings: SMUT, SLASH of the HP/DM variety, crossdressing, very, very slight bondage (to the point where it isn't really noticeable). You are forewarned.**

**Sins of the Son:**

Harry Potter really does look delicious.

It is the only thought that can possibly enter your mind as you watch him saunter into the room, unaware- or perhaps _too_ aware- of the scalding gaze burning down his body.

He stops about a foot away from you, leaning on one leg and gazing up at you through those thick lashes of his. The skirt he's wearing is a bit big for his tiny waist, slanting towards the floor and exposing curvy hips and a flash of red. That boy will be his own undoing.

He flutters his eyelids once, twice, and then you're on him. You run so fast that your brain can't catch up until you have him pinned against a desk, squirming and struggling as the wooden legs scrape the floor.

He can hardly breathe, he is so crushed between you and the desk, but you think that the needy heaving of his diaphragm against your pelvis is beautiful. You press in tighter.

Only after his struggling has ceased and his breaths are short, panicked staccatos against your throat, do you step back and heft his tiny body up onto the desk behind him.

You smirk as you remember your father, who had been tearing through your memories like paper lately. His displeasure with seeing you fucking the boy in front of you was monumental, and he'd wasted no time in expressing his _hope _to see, upon his next foray into your mind, the memory of you fucking a hot little brunette schoolgirl.

_Well._ You would hate to disappoint father, now wouldn't you?

The smirk reappears as you force Potter flat onto his back. The buttons of his white oxford come undone with relative ease and you part it over his chest, sliding the shirt down over his shoulders and being careful to leave the red and gold tie intact around his throat. You use the tie to harshly yank his compliant body into a semi-sitting position, then slide his shirt down his arms. His shirt is left bunched around his wrists, forcing them together behind his back and leaving his body in an awkward, painful position. You don't even bother telling him what would happen, should his loose restraints slip; you don't have to.

Your large, capable hands trail up the tops of his stocking-covered thighs and under his tiny pleated skirt. They finally reach the tops of the stockings, held up by lacy garters, and snap them harshly against his thighs.

"Fuck!" He sounds like he's in pain, but you know better than that.

One of your hands flips up the front of his skirt, thus exposing everything underneath.

The few inches of uncovered thigh above his garters are pale and tantalizing; you quickly remedy that, using your nails to scratch the area harshly. After a few seconds, pinpricks of blood seep up above the skin and trail down his thighs, catching in the frilly white lace of the garters and turning it red.

It looks better this way.

The red of the blood matches- perfectly- the red of the tiny thong he's chosen to wear. His neglected cock strains skyward beneath the silky fabric, creating a dark wet spot and stretching the tiny side strings to far it's a wonder they're still in once piece.

You palm the front of his cock through his panties roughly, the fabric sticking to your hand and moving with it, and you can tell that it's creating the most unbearable friction ever. Potter can probably feel every singlestitch against his skin; his nerve endings are probably on fire.

That is, after all, what you had hoped to achieve.

Suddenly, your hand stops moving against him and he groans in delicious agony. The look in his eyes is priceless as he gives you a pleading glance and slumps down onto the desk, skull thunking on the wood and back arched beautifully over his arms.

Your smile is devious, then, as you roll him onto his front. His hard cock is pressed against the hard desk; you can just barely see it from between his dangling thighs. You step back to admire him draped across that desk. Everywhere, his olive skin is dewed with slick sweat. The round globes of his arse are completely visible, the tiny skirt having ridden up high on his hips.

Your hand reaches out and spreads his cheeks, watching as the red string of the thong he's wearing sinks into his crack, sticking to the skin there with sweat. You lean down, keeping his cheeks spread, and clamp your teeth around the top of the thong, dragging it over the curve of his arse until it reaches the crevice between arse and thighs. You pull the strings back with your teeth until they're as far from his body as they'll get, then let them go and watch as they snap against the very edge of his arse harshly.

His legs jerk against the desk. His exposed hole clenches in surprise, drawing your attention to it.

It looks exactly how it did a year ago, when you two did this for the first time. It's pink and small- _tiny_, in fact- and you marvel at that, wondering how it isn't stretched from your cock's repeated assaults.

You can barely remember a time when you two did not do this, and you're not quite sure you want to, either.

Before you know it, your face is hovering over his arsehole and you're breathing heavily on it. It's pulsing and quivering in anxiety and Harry's back is tense. After a moment of this delicious torture, you stiffen your tongue to a point and sharply ram it as deep as you possibly can.

Harry lets out a choked keening noise and his thighs clench tightly. You wiggle your tongue around a bit and then slowly withdraw it, lapping up and down his crack instead.

Harry takes deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself.

Then, your tongue is gone and in its place is your cock, positioned so that it's just touching Harry's crack.

You thrust it into him with one quick jab and then stay still. You're seated balls-deep inside him, now, and he looks lovely all laid out and prettily speared, just waiting for your next move.

You start a steady pace, deliberately avoiding an angle that you know will drive him wild, waiting for the opportune moment to overload him. He's sighing in contentment because this is where he belongs; this is where he will _always _be.

Just when he's gotten used to your rhythm and has begun gently rocking with you, you grip his hips and _slam _into him. You know you've hit his spot perfectly when he lets out a strangled scream and his entire body convulses violently.

Your legs, though thick with muscle, become weak with pleasure, so you lift Harry's waist until his knees are on the desk and clamber onto it behind him. His knees spread to accommodate you and you kneel between his pretty, stockinged thighs before ramming back into him.

Again, you pause, staring at the way your angry red cock has stretched him impossibly, at how well his body has taken it- has _had _to take it, because you wouldn't stop for anything.

Harry is kneeling, now, with the side of his pace pressed against the wood of the desk. His body is rigid and tense and his thighs are trembling with the effort of supporting him, but you know he loves every second of this.

You begin the same steady pace as before, but this time Harry doesn't seem so content with it, even though he's gasping with every thrust.

"Com- come _on_, Draco… _do_ it… I'm not going to fucking… going to… mmm… I'm not gonna break. Just- _FUCK!"_

Your hips snap forward and then Harry's mouth stretches open and his eyes roll back into his head.

His complaint changes mid-sentence and now he's egging you on like a wanton whore, adding in things like "just like that!" and "yesss- right- right there, baby!" to the litany streaming from his mouth.

Your thrusts are wild and frenzied now and Harry's grunting with every one, then, without warning he screams and clenches his arse tight and you can just barely see a bit of cum dripping down onto the desk between his legs.

That's not your worry now, though, and you grip his hips, yanking him further onto your cock- _impossibly_ spearing him and the notion that he may not be able to walk tomorrow flits through your mind, but then it's gone because you're filling him with thick strings of spunk.

He's slumped down on the desk in a boneless heap and you pull out of him with a small 'pop.' You stay seated behind him for a moment, watching as your cum, tinged pink with his blood, dribbles from his hole and oozes down his crack.

It's probably the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, excluding him.

You remove the oxford from around his arms and he rolls onto his back, spreading his thighs invitingly. You smile tenderly down at him, taking his invitation and lying between them. The two of you are curled up in an embrace and he plants a soft kiss on your lips.

"If I'd known a skirt would drive you so wild, I'd have worn it ages ago! Maybe I'll wear it again next time…" His voice is laughing as he smiles up at you.

You regard him silently for a moment and then respond. "You should."

And Harry did.


End file.
